Cross-examining the Kagera War: A Plea for Multidirectional Postcolonialism

Two martial masculinities: Civilian and military

Although African nation-states’ independence experiences are often imagined as a rupture with colonialism, the story also includes much continuity with colonial governance. Tanganyika became independent in 1961, and Uganda followed in 1962. With Kenyan independence in 1963, the period of formal British colonialism came to an end in East Africa. Julius Nyerere, Milton Obote, and Jomo Kenyatta transitioned from nationalist party to national leadership roles, and by the mid-60s, one-party rule characterized all three nations’ politics.

International media played up Nyerere’s intellect and aplomb from the earliest days of independence. In March 1964, a Time Magazine article described him as »Africa’s most sensible and sensitive statesman«.^[26] A striking full-page artistic representation of his face, looking serious and determined, graced the issue’s cover. His shirt collar displayed the colors of the new Tanzanian flag. Behind him, patches of long, dark green grass interspersed with areas covered in flames gave the image an ominous tone. The Time cover came early in Nyerere’s career as Tanganyika’s (and after April 1964, Tanzania’s) President. The feature article, entitled »Africa: Who is Safe?«, describes a continent of newly independent or soon-to-be independent African nation-states, many of them rendered as chaotic and dangerous. Situating Nyerere within this purported continent-wide chaos, the article touted Nyerere’s leadership as the key ingredient in Tanganyika’s reputation as a haven of stability and peace vis-à-vis other parts of Africa.^[27] Congo, Togo, and Nigeria all received mention as unstable places with greedy and capricious leaders. In contrast, Nyerere was a »slender, soft-eyed man with a Chaplinesque mustache, [...] the antithesis of most African leaders«.^[28]

By the time this article appeared in Time, 1964 had already been a very tumultuous year for Nyerere and Tanganyika: in January, Zanzibar went through a bloody revolution, and the Tanganyika Rifles mutinied right after the violence on Zanzibar.^[29] Plans were almost complete for unifying Tanganyika with Zanzibar in April. Nyerere’s initial response to these events was to go into hiding, but he soon emerged, hopeful that his government could negotiate a settlement with the rebellious soldiers and forestall wider violence. He soon realized, however, that this was not to be, and he asked the former colonizers, the British, for troops to help subdue the mutineers. Britain sent a unit of Marines, who quashed the uprising. Rather than ordering harsh punishments for the mutinous soldiers, Nyerere simply dismissed both battalions of the Tanganyika Rifles.^[30] Fourteen mutineers received prison sentences, though most received no more than two or three years.^[31] Nyerere was critical of the judge’s decision in the case, but decided not to interfere, arguing that to do so »would be to do exactly that thing for which the nation condemns the soldiers — it would be to abrogate the rule of law«.^[32] By the end of the year Nyerere had established a new army, the Tanzania People’s Defense Force (TPDF). In establishing the TPDF, he decided to »sacrifice military efficiency for political security«.^[33] He remained wary of the potential for another military coup. But »by 1966,« according to Timothy Parsons, »[his] control of the military was complete«.^[34] Nyerere had turned the events of early 1964 to his advantage, using them to dislodge the remnants of the the Tanganyika Rifles, described by Charles Thomas as »a powerful subnational identity that remained as a colonial legacy«.^[35] This move allowed him to build a new military to serve TANU ideology, socialist ideals, and the nation. In 1967, the Arusha Declaration laid out Nyerere’s vision for Tanzanian socialism, self-reliance, and good leadership. The TPDF became a powerful symbol of unity, a »people’s army« that would put Tanzania’s interests first.^[36]

In the 1970 s, Nyerere articulated a commitment to ideals of »familyhood« (Ujamaa) as expressed in the 1967 Arusha Declaration.^[37] These expressed ideals led to policy decisions that helped build a »new national society« governed by his vision of African socialism, but at great economic and social cost.^[38] Most notable among these was his villagisation scheme (Ujamaa vijijini), which »between 1973 and 1975 [. . .] morphed into a compulsory drive in which millions of peasants were forcibly relocated into concentrated settlements«^[39] in the pursuit of rural development. Historians have emphasized the complexities of the villagization project and how it is remembered. Here, I simply want to point to the »significant upheaval throughout the country« caused by this bold, but flawed, national project, which resulted in reduced food production and widespread hardship.^[40] In addition, the TPDF’s invasion of Uganda in 1979 worsened Tanzania’s financial problems. The military operation and the thousands of soldiers who crossed through the border region may have accelerated the spread of HIV/AIDS in the region.^[41] The promise of independence had turned to disappointments, and while this was a common trajectory for many new African nation-states, the »Tanzaphilia« of Nyerere’s first decade in office made these disappointments more acute.^[42] James R. Brennan sums up Nyerere’s critics’ perspectives:

»The substance of their criticisms also reflects the nature of political debate with Nyerere, who as teacher and president put great stock in the need for consensus through debate, but who in practice served as Tanzania’s lone authorized critic.«^[43]

Nyerere’s authoritarian style was entwined with his goal of creating a unified Tanzania, which had its human and material costs.

Despite these less favorable legacies, since his death in 1999, Nyerere has continued to be revered as a kind of saint. His diocese in Musoma appealed to the Vatican for his beatification, which continues to percolate nearly a quarter century after his death.^[44] Even Uganda’s current President Yoweri Museveni weighed in on Nyerere’s credentials for sainthood, noting that Ugandans owed him a profound debt of gratitude for liberating them from Idi Amin’s tyrannical rule in 1979.^[45] He was eulogized as the »conscience of Africa«, a man who had led an exemplary life of self-sacrifice, and who strived for the betterment of his people.^[46] His New York Times obituary described him as »uncharacteristically humble and modest«, »idealistic«, and »principled«. Yet it also noted that »some would say [he was] naively misguided.«^[47]

These are not words that would have been used in describing Nyerere’s nemesis, Uganda’s Idi Amin. In 1964, as Nyerere was managing the multiple crises of the Tanganyika Rifles mutiny, the Zanzibari Revolution, and unification, Idi Amin was a major in the Ugandan Army. Inspired by the Tanganyika Rifles mutiny, African soldiers in both Uganda and Kenya followed suit. In Uganda, Amin seems to have played some part in negotiating an end to the uprising, which continued in spite of his efforts. He received two promotions from President Milton Obote within the space of one year, after which he became »more astute in creating a personal following in the army«.^[48] As he continued rising through the ranks, taking on increasingly important posts as a senior military leader, he also became, after Obote, »the second most powerful figure in the country«.^[49]

He embodied a highly visible and easily recognizable martial masculinity. In March 1962, even before Ugandan independence seven months later, King’s African Rifles (KAR) Lieutenant Amin had commanded a platoon that committed atrocities against Ngwatella Turkana pastoralists. »Operation Utah,« writes Mark Leopold, »was a cross-border action involving both Kenyan (5KAR) and Ugandan (4KAR) colonial forces«.^[50] An investigation after the incident found that although Amin had given orders to carry out beatings that caused the deaths of at least five Ngwatella Turkana men, he bore no more overall responsibility than his British superiors.^[51] His involvement had no effect on his career. As shown above, after independence he »resumed his steady rise through the ranks, in what was to become an increasingly fast-changing army«.^[52] As Obote came to view the army as an essential partner in his own form of authoritarian governance, Amin became all the more important in his capacity as a trusted military advisor.^[53] At the same time, Amin navigated the »complex and fast-moving politics of post-independence Uganda« adeptly, thereby demonstrating »a new ability to operate politically as well as militarily«.^[54] As the army »more than doubled in size between 1964 and 1965,« he secured formidable power through ethnicity-based recruitment practices.^[55]

In 1971, while Obote was out of the country on an official visit, Amin seized power in a military coup. Initially backed by Western powers, Amin upended the model of the erudite East African post-independence leader, which up to that point had included men who were more like Nyerere than him. Amin’s was certainly not the first military coup after independence, but it was the first successful one in East Africa.

Like Nyerere, Amin made the cover of Time magazine on June 21, 1976. He wears a dark blue dress uniform with a chestful of medals, gold epaulets, and gold cords draped across one side. He looks to the side, and his mouth is open as if he is talking. The cover’s text (»Appetite for Trouble«) exclaims, »He’s outrageous in person. He loves race cars, cartoons, and boxing. Critics say crocs (and Amin!) are eating dissenters. Is he serious or just having fun?« Less than one year later, Amin’s picture appeared on the March 7, 1977 cover of Time again, this time with the caption »The Wild Man of Africa.« On this cover, he again wears a military uniform, but it is subdued–olive drab, with ribbons instead of medals. General Amin renders a salute, looking into the distance, his eyes squinting a bit, his face resolute. Between his seizure of power in 1971 and being labeled a »wild man« by an icon of the western press in 1976, he had achieved notoriety as a capricious, defiant, charismatic, and ruthless leader. He snubbed western expectations of decorum and created his own. He was a disruptor who refused to be contained by the west. In this, and in his brutal decision to expel South Asians from Uganda in 1972, he »did enjoy some appeal as a leader who dramatically broke with the colonial order and thus opened up new possibilities for African politics«.^[56] By 1977, as evidence of his regime’s crimes became impossible to ignore, and as the ruins of Uganda’s economy plunged people further into poverty, the elements that some Ugandans had welcomed took a back seat to widespread fear of running afoul of government officials or the State Research Bureau and its depredations.^[57]

The crisis that led to Amin’s ouster in 1979 had actually begun in October 1978, when his army occupied the Kagera Salient in northwest Tanzania in its quest to annex the region. The 1978 invasion was only the latest in a series of territorial incursions by Amin against Tanzania. This time however, Nyerere decided to take decisive action against him.^[58] In mid-November, TPDF forces massed on the south side of the Kagera River, and gradually began pushing Ugandan forces back. Libyan troops and equipment reinforced Amin’s army. In February 1979, the TPDF and a small army of Ugandan exiles (UNLA) crossed into Uganda, and on April 10, 1979, took Kampala. A TPDF occupation force remained in Uganda for a couple of years afterwards. This move drew approbation from the Organization of African Unity (OAU) and some African nations, who expressed dismay at Nyerere’s disregard for an independent African nation’s sovereignty. But Nyerere maintained that Tanzania had a right to defend its territory from Amin’s encroachment, and also that his humanitarian concern for Uganda’s peoples outweighed concerns about violating Ugandan sovereignty.^[59]

Martial masculinities beyond archetypes

Continuities from colonial rule to postcolonial governance manifested in both Nyerere and Amin. Nyerere was part of the small group of elite men who rose to national leadership through their educational attainments and involvement in mass nationalist movements in the 1950 s. For Amin, the continuity traveled with him through his life as a colonial and postcolonial military man. He had been part of the British colonial army in Uganda, and had been an officer during violent actions against the Ngwetella Turkana. He came to power in a military coup, and for a time, enjoyed support from the anti-socialist, anti-Obote west.^[60] His version of martial masculinity was highly legible: it could be read through his rank of Field Marshal, the massive amounts of insignia he wore on his many uniforms, his swagger, his boxing, his bombast.

But both Nyerere and Amin were disruptors, albeit in different ways, and both performed martial masculinities that underpinned their disruptiveness. Nyerere’s socialist vision, his refusal to align with either superpower, his insistence on Tanzanian self-sufficiency and ujamaa, and his generosity in supporting anti-apartheid resistance on Tanzanian soil positioned him as an African icon. His role in setting up the TPDF as an army built to serve the nation, and then deploying it against Amin’s troops in Kagera, reflected a martial masculinity that did not require brashness or bluster. Nyerere’s authoritarianism, masked by his status as the nation’s »Mwalimu« (»teacher« in Kiswahili), created the conditions within which the TPDF could respond to Amin’s cross-border violent provocations in 1978 with the force that toppled is regime in 1979.

The contrast between the two presidents burst into public view soon after the 1971 coup. Amin questioned Nyerere’s masculinity in the press and in correspondence.^[61] Nyerere, on the other hand condemned Amin’s militarism and questioned his legitimacy as national leader given how he had come to power. The New York Times saw conflict between Uganda and Tanzania as inevitable, referring to President Julius Nyerere of Tanzania as »a slender intellectual that has been leading his country further and further to the left,« raising the specter of global socialism. On the other hand, »President Idi Amin [was] a huge, muscular man, a former heavyweight boxing champion of the Ugandan Army, who values his links to the West.« It concluded, »that two such different men should disagree [was] not surprising«.^[62]

Nyerere’s martial masculinity was subtle and seemingly reluctant. His version of martial masculinity touted liberation, whether Tanzania’s, southern African, or Ugandan. He defended Tanzanian territorial sovereignty and initiated what he considered to be a humanitarian intervention for Ugandans. Nyerere’s approach to the question of managing Tanzania’s military, and to the larger problem of African militaries as postcolonial actors, connected directly to his desire to promote a politics that would put Africans first. Although Amin and Western commenters described him in terms of an altogether different kind of masculinity, it is important to read him as a military man. Placing him along a spectrum of martial masculinities reveals him as a political actor who was not undone by the military in 1964. Rather, he used the experience of the Tanganyika Rifles mutiny as a foundation for a shrewd reassessment of what the military might do for him, for Tanzania, for eastern Africa, and for southern Africa. It renders his relationship to Tanzanian military history more visible, moving away from surface interpretations of the »sensible and sensitive statesman,« in which he features as a gentle socialist idealist, and towards assessing him as a man whose engagement with the military, and militarism, moved through different registers according to his domestic, regional, and international political circumstances.

Nyerere’s fraught relationship with the US and other Western powers can be interpreted as more than an ideological disagreement about how African economics and politics should be organized. Nyerere also posed a challenge to the notion that international politics could keep gender categories neat and tidy, with military dictators like Amin in one place, and »slender intellectuals« like Nyerere in another. For Westerners who produced these representations, Nyerere and Amin were archetypes, easily juxtaposed to spin a postcolonial story of Nyerere’s good triumphing over Amin’s evil.^[63] But archetypes are not real. Civilian and military decisions to go to war wreaked havoc in the Kagera Salient in 1978–1979, and the citizens of Tanzania and Uganda experienced the very real effects of these decisions for years to come. The distinctions in how the two men displayed their martiality mattered little to those who suffered the devastation of war in 1978–1979.

Resetting postcolonialism, reframing war^[64]

In considering the relationship between war and postcolonial studies, Santanu Das asks »what work does a postcolonial critique of violence do to our understanding of war more generally?«^[65] Gender offers a specific lens for unsettling the unidirectionality of postcolonial thought and military history. Both of these fields tend to position Britain, western Europe, and the United States as the sole purveyors of colonialism, its violence, and its unequal outcomes. Scholarship that challenges this formulation, for example by centering wars fought between postcolonial nationstates, provide spaces for examining continuities and ruptures in colonial and postcolonial governance. A gendered analysis of such conflicts further disrupts the construction of warfare as a normative masculine activity. »Feminist scholarship,« writes Yasmin Khan, »has pioneered alternative approaches, illuminating a far more complex and contested history in which masculinity itself, the actions of armies and the ways in which soldiers interact with local societies all come under the microscope«.^[66]

By focusing on two variants of martial masculinities in independent East African nation-states, I tried to show that they come in different packages, and that they cause extensive damage either way. Feminist scholars, novelists, poets, artists, and musicians have explained the scale of this damage in myriad forms. Alicia Decker’s history of »ordinary« women in Idi Amin’s Uganda traces the complexities and paradoxes that shaped their relationship to »Amin’s military state«.^[67] Many Ugandan women remembered the war first and foremost from their perspectives as mothers, recalling those years as a time of »protracted struggle to protect [their families] from harm’s way«.^[68] Women’s efforts to protect their families took place alongside profound grief and uncertainty. Amin’s militarism and his state security apparatus had killed or disappeared many of their husbands, sons, uncles, and fathers. Women and children’s personal narratives reveal first-hand experiences of terror and abuse at the hands of Ugandan soldiers. They describe an array of experiences, such as going into exile in neighboring Rwanda; losing touch with random people who had intervened in potentially deadly situations; and humiliations that stayed with them for the rest of their lives.^[69] Grace Kyomuhendo’s novel Waiting provides readers with an intimate understanding of how the war intruded in a rural family’s everyday lives, and how they nonetheless found ways to continue caring for each other with »quiet, unsentimental pathos«.^[70]

Postcolonial military history would bring to bear source materials beyond the strictly historical, because they have the potential to name the different registers of gendered violence that people experience in warfare. This might mean bringing multidirectional reading practices to interpreting interviews, memoirs, and newspaper reports; integrating and analysing photography beyond mere illustration; or finding ways to integrate artistic representations of war (as in Kyomuhendo’s novel Waiting) into historical analyses. Feminist and decolonial scholars have demonstrated the value of oblique, radical analyses for setting new research horizons. This is an urgent task for scholars of postcolonialism and military history: despite decades of studying how war is conducted, we are no closer to realizing what Francoise Vergès calls »the right to a peaceful life« and her related call to reject the naturalization of war because of the unfathomable harm and destruction it causes not only in its immediate effects, but its reverberations into grim futures.^[71] Feminist decolonial scholars have also proposed »critical border-thinking« as a valuable mode of inquiry within multidirectional postcolonial thought.^[72] The cross-border location of the Kagera War is especially fruitful as a site of analysis, since border-crossing necessarily evokes danger, insecurity, and violence. Indeed, this particular border war and the subsequent revolutionary outcome it enabled, of bringing Yoweri Museveni to power through a cross-border incursion and insurgency against Idi Amin’s successors, has also produced dangerous outcomes for Ugandans, the effects of which are felt today.

I return to Das’s question, »what work does a postcolonial critique of violence do to our understanding of war more generally«?^[73] At a minimum, it should prompt military historians to pursue multidirectional analyses that counter the continued centering of European and North American military histories in an age when crossborder, multidimensional warfare expresses both the continuation of colonial forms of violence (albeit with new technologies) and the refusal of formerly colonized peoples to submit to it. A more utopian answer to the question is that decolonial feminist military history pries open new intellectual spaces, showing how the ongoing coercive violence of warfare and militarization has intersected with gender and race hierarchies to produce deadly, destructive outcomes for ordinary people.^[74] Along the way, it smuggles in enough radical thought to undermine any easy stories about war as a necessary endeavor. Instead, »insurgent feminisms« encourage us to challenge normative assumptions about militancy and masculinity in favor of demanding the right to peace.^[75]